


Feeling Our Way In the Dark

by Lucretiassister



Series: Splendors Sequels [4]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Beards, F/M, Pregnancy, child birth, family life, parental anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22074442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucretiassister/pseuds/Lucretiassister
Summary: In the weeks before and the days after the birth of his son, Ross Poldark reflects on family and parenthood.
Relationships: Demelza Carne/Ross Poldark
Series: Splendors Sequels [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1563472
Comments: 28
Kudos: 93





	1. Wednesday May 13, 2020 Part I

**Author's Note:**

> This Poldark Modern AU is a sequel that takes place about three years after the main action leaves off in “Which By Its Splendors Rivals the Heavens” (a Poldark Modern AU). But one needn't have read the first work (or any other sequels) to follow along here.

Ross Poldark switched on the bathroom light and closed the door, softly, behind him. The gentle click of the latch hadn’t been enough to wake the occupants of the adjoining bedroom but it had worried him all the same. Perhaps he should have moved down the hall to the other bath to perform this task. It felt strange to be moving forward with this secret he’d been considering for some time--to actually follow through on his urge--with them so close and so unaware.

He looked up in the mirror and didn’t like what he saw. The lines and circles surrounding them were as dark as the eyes themselves. And in this light his skin looked grey.

Usually the natural light that came in through the skylight provided a soft illumination that countered the harsher overhead bulbs, but not today. He flicked on the lamp above the mirror cabinet. As he expected, it didn’t help.

He laughed lightly and ran his hands through his thick dark hair until it stood on end, then stroked his beard.

_Face it Poldark, you are old and tired._

He opened the door to the ancient cabinet--it had been repainted and the mirror itself had been replaced some years ago when his cousin Verity had undertook an updating of Nampara that also strove to be “historically accurate.” It had been a time when both cousins were alone and unfulfilled in most aspects of their lives and they’d found the all-consuming project a great distraction.

That was so long ago now. Yet the improvements to the place had held up, hadn’t they? It was a good home, comfortable and solid and warm. He’d _provided_ well--no one could fault him that. 

Ross was no longer alone and hadn’t been for some time. And it was for the others--for his family--that he acted now.

 _Family._ He chuckled at the word. It sounded so momentous, so consequential for just three people but that’s what they were now. There was no going back.

He easily located the blades he knew he’d find on the top shelf and opened the box to inspect. No rust despite the years they’d been largely untouched. He was impressed. For a moment he had considered getting one of his father’s old straight razors for this undertaking but doubted they’d be in any sort of decent shape.

And hadn’t Demelza disposed of those in her attempt to make the old house more child friendly?

“My love, it will be years before he has enough height or strength or coordination to go fumbling through drawers to cut himself with old straight razors,” he’d told her.

“I know but by then we will have forgotten they were even there. No, better to do it now while it’s fresh in our minds.”

“I thought you liked all the ‘treasures’ of Nampara,” he’d teased.

“I do but I prefer the ones that are not sharp nor rusty. Nor toxic either. I think we need to do a check for lead soon.”

“You’re nesting,” he’d said.

“You know in nature that’s usually a job for two,” she said with a wink. It was an invitation for him to join her in the purge of dangerous objects that might be lurking in forgotten cobwebbed corners.

Yes, this was no longer about him and what he wanted. Nor about Demelza, for if he’d stopped to think about her, he’d see how she’d be confused at best, hurt at worst, that he'd make such a move without consulting her first. But he needed to think of what was best for his son now.

_You must see I have no choice._


	2. Wednesday February 19, 2020

“My hips hurt,” Demelza said one evening as she plopped her head against the pillow in exasperation.

“I’ve never heard that complaint from you before,” Ross observed as he slid in next to her. Before he could lie down he had to first gently remove Florence, the sleek ginger cat who had taken up residency on his pillow. Flo looked at him with one narrowed eye then maneuvered back to roughly the same spot in which she’d been lying; somehow she’d forced him to be the one to shift after all.

“I never even felt like I had hips before,” Demelza replied and absently reached over to pet the cat who was now purring loudly in triumph. “Sure my knees would complain if I ran too long or hard but never my hips. Now everytime I move and when I don’t move--like now when I lie down--they remind me how strained they are.”

“I’ve always admired your hips greatly,” he said and placed his hand on her left hip, then kissed her forehead. “And now they have an extra burden. Please thank them for me. You know when you get to my age you’ll feel all your joints, all the time. Hips, ankles, knees elbows...to be expected in an old man.”

“Oh Ross. You are not old and you know it.” She wasn’t allowing him space for self-pity. 

They had talked at great length about Ross becoming a father for the first time at the age of 43. It was almost twenty years older than his father had been when Ross was born. But really only now did Ross feel ready. Or almost ready.

And he knew Demelza was ready too, despite the occasional moments when she expressed her wobbly confidence.

“What if I’m no good as a mum and he resents me?” she had said that same day at breakfast.

“Oh, he’ll resent us both, that’s a given! But I’m rather sure resentment doesn't kick in until they are at least in their teens so you’ll have more than a decade’s grace period first,” he laughed, then turned to her with a serious expression. “Demelza, you are a caring and generous and observant person. And you seem to have bottomless patience.”

“Patience?” she scoffed, tossing her toast back in her plate in disbelief.

“Yes, I’ve seen it,” he argued. “For animals anyway. Their quirky behaviours and filth don’t seem to bother you. I suspect that would carry over to helpless humans. Those seem like important qualities a parent needs.” 

“I think you are too nice, Ross, and only tell me what I want to hear. Or what you want to believe.” 

“No, Demelza, I’ll looking to  _ you _ for lessons.”

“To me? Then we are doomed,” she said to her belly and laughed lightly.

\---


	3. Wednesday March 25, 2020

“Come take a walk with me,” Ross coaxed. 

Demelza had been sitting on the sofa, book in her hand, dog at her feet, cat on her lap. Ross could tell she wasn’t focusing on the pages at all but instead shifted in her seat, trying to flex her achy limbs without upsetting the cat. Recently she’d noticed her ankles would swell at the end of the day, so tonight she had her legs propped up on the ottoman. This time it was their black cat, Ebenezer--or ‘Ebb’ as Demelza liked to call him--who seemed to need constant attention. He’d first sat on her chest, pawing at her book, and then when she ignored him, turned around waving his fluffy tail in her face. She’d gently set him aside but he insisted on walking down her legs and settling on her outstretched shins. 

“I’ll only slow you down,” she moped.

“I’ve been trying to get you to slow down for years,” he replied playfully but was met by an empty silence. She was biting her lip, deep in thought. “He can’t seem to get enough of you tonight,” he said, nodding towards the cat.

“Oh, of course now he’s a perfect gentleman but you should see what he did to the tulips you brought me. He’s beheaded all but two! By the way, they were quite lovely in case I hadn’t thanked you properly,” she smiled then raised a questioning brow. “Was that Prudie’s idea to cheer me?”

“No all mine. But she is a bit concerned. You usually outstrip her industry and…”

“I know, I’m slowing down,” she sighed. “And I know she’s only too eager to help, if I’d let her. Oh Ross, everything is changing!”

“Yes, Demelza but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.” 

_Birds don’t resist transition,_ he recalled her saying once. He smiled and took her hand in his. “Come, you need a change of scenery,” he insisted.

They took the path along the tall grasses and walked hand in hand as the late March sun settled in the west over the sea. Already little flowers popped up here and there along the scrubby cliffs, saxifrage and of course sea pinks, Alexanders, and oxeye daisies, all undeterred by lingering frosts or cold rain. Life must go on and so beauty follows, whether one is ready or not.

Their dog Garrick was excited to be out with both of them and ran in circles, not quite understanding why their pace was so slowed this evening. Finally he went ahead to explore, and even though he’d learned the hard way not to actually catch any rabbits, he still found it fun to give them chase.

Ross struggled to match Demelza's stride tonight. He had long legs to begin with, so every step took him further than hers did, and now she pitched a little to the side with each of hers to accommodate her extra weight. It wasn’t quite a waddle, but the gentle sway of a body dancing to its own private melody.

“I missed being out with you,” he said softly and lifted her hand to his lips.

Ross knew this wasn’t the time to admit that he also missed running with her. It had been some time since they’d done that together. She’d kept a daily jog up for most of her pregnancy--her obstetrician had said it was okay--but for the last month or so had preferred to go solo. The last few times she had ventured out with Ross, he’d read too much into her every grunt or moan and was unable to disguise the utter panic on his face. He’d even insisted on taking her pulse once she’s stopped for a break.

“That’s it, Ross!” she’d declared one spring day. “I know you are concerned but I just can’t bear your...your _overbearingness_! It’s not like I’m playing rugby or moving the piano. This is a light jog--and it’s meant to lower my blood pressure but instead _you_ are heightening my stress.”

“Demelza, I’m sorry,” he’d said. “You are right, I need to be more supportive in the ways you need me to be.” 

So in the weeks that followed, she ventured out alone, with only Garrick as company. Of course Ross still worried, maybe more so since he was not there to be watchful.

Tonight he felt the need to try another tack to divert her attention away from his previous misplayed overprotective impulses. “Just think, my love, it won’t be long before there are _three_ of us running along this cliff.”

“The hell we will!” 

“What? You love this path!”

“Yes I do. But you have to promise me, Ross Vennor Poldark, that our children won’t be out here tumbling down cliffs unattended.”

“Would you rather have them _attended_ as they tumbled?” Then he saw she was in no mood for jokes. “Demelza,” he tried yet again. “I played along this coastline and these cliffs when I was a boy and I…”

“Then you were neglected, Ross! Okay, maybe that’s too harsh but can you honestly tell me your mum knew where you were?”

“No…”

“And your father?”

“Yes, later he did, but...okay, I see your point.”

“Oh Ross, listen, you are going to have to help me with this. No two parents, no matter how alike they are in their child raising philosophies and outlooks, agree _exactly_ on what’s a real danger and what risks are acceptable.”

“And you know this because…?” he laughed lightly.

“Oh for fuck’s sake. Of course I have no idea what my parents agreed on or if they ever agreed on anything at all, but over the years I’ve met lots of people who happened to be parents. And I've listened and observed. That's just the way it is. You and I won’t always agree--I think cliffs are too dangerous whereas you think me merely moving is too dangerous…” she laughed.

“Demelza…”

“Oh, it is only an example. We worry about what we have no control over, and instead of realising we have next to no control over anything, we often times sort of _choose_ what to worry about so that we feel--falsely--as though we do have control over something. Does that make sense? And so I choose to worry about cliffs. Full stop.”

“Fair. I promise I will always hold his hand whilst near a cliff…” Ross replied.

“Great, then you’ll both tumble down. Okay, Ross, now it’s your turn to choose an irrational fear.”

A thousand thoughts followed--he’d had no idea he’d harboured so many fears. Fear that something would happen to her and he’d be left cynical and alone with a withered heart and a darkened soul like his father and then ruin their child. Fear that something would happen to his son and the pain would be unbearable and drive a wedge between him and Demelza that they’d never be able to breach. Fear that one day either Demelza or the boy would pull away from his touch or find him superfluous and look elsewhere in their lives for love and meaning. Fear that something would happen to him and he’d leave his wife and infant to fend for themselves alone. None of these were irrational but very real possibilities if the fates decided to play cruelly with him. Ross couldn’t voice any of these to her now. It was impossible.

“Since you mentioned it, I too am afraid of lead poisoning. Not in the house but maybe in the garden soil,” he began. It wasn’t really _untrue_ and as he spoke he convinced himself more and more of the risk. “You said it yourself--centuries ago there were mines all up and down this countryside. Heavy metals don't just wash away with the rain.” Then he added, “How’s that?”

“That’s perfect, Ross. You fret about the three carrots we seem to yield from our garden every year and I’ll worry about the 300 feet of sheer drop off within walking distance from our house,” she laughed.

“It’s a deal,” he said.


	4. Wednesday April 15, 2020

“Demelza? Are you...angry with me?” Ross asked tentatively.

“Yes I am,” she said calmly and peeled another potato.

“Can I ask…”

“No, you may not ask why. Okay yes,” she said and turned around quickly. 

Ross could see her eyes snapping but bravely stepped closer to her in the warm Nampara kitchen. A gentle April shower was dancing on the roof, coaxing the blossoms and the greenery of Cornwall to continue their daily spring reveal. Ordinarily the sound would have been soothing but it did nothing now to calm the mood.

“Why, Ross? Why did you ask Jinny Carter to come ‘round after the baby was born without consulting with me first?!”

“She’s experienced. I just thought you could use the assistance…”

“Yes, assistance with cleaning or cooking or household things but not minding the baby. I know she’s experienced, but that’s the very point! I have to figure this out on my own.”

“On your own?”

“No, with you too, of course. But I mean, we have to jump all in. Sure, I'll ask for advice. From Jinny or Caroline or even my brother...well maybe not him.”

Drake, Demelza’s youngest brother, and his new wife just had a daughter the previous autumn. They were a very sweet young couple but Ross could tell Demelza found some of their parenting opinions questionable and no matter the issue, Mr. and Mrs. Carne would not be dissuaded from their beliefs of what was ‘right’. 

Just that past weekend, Ross and Demelza had the Carnes, as well as their closest friends, the Enyses, over for Easter brunch and had witnessed several almost-heated discussions between the two families as they compared notes and apparently took score. 

How her brother and his wife came to hold these hard and fast truths--which didn't fall consistently on the spectrum of traditional versus progressive parenting practices--was a mystery to Demelza since they never seemed to be based on popular opinion, careful research, or even just personal experience. Were they hypocrites, easily-swayed, or just stabbing in the dark like everyone else?

She found it curious that Morwenna, who had a rather anaesthetised labour complete with epidural and lots of painkillers, remained distrustful of vaccines and most traditional medicine. 

“Morwenna Carne would recommend St. John’s Wort for a brain tumour!” Dwight had scoffed, once out of earshot.

Drake and Morwenna used plastic nursers with disposable plastic liners, plastic sippy cups, and had no end of plastic baby toys but insisted on using only organic nappies. 

“Oh Caroline, you _don’t_? Aren’t you worried about phthalates?” Drake had asked her in horror. Caroline, whose three children produced close to thirty nappies a day, silently raised a brow and poured herself another mimosa.

The Carnes thought it _criminal_ to allow a baby to ever sleep in the family bed--to which Caroline rolled her eyes and Dwight contained a snicker--and yet their daughter had never slept a night in her own cot. As far as Demelza knew, Drake and Morwenna hadn’t really alighted on any workable sleeping solution that didn’t involve one of them passed out on the sofa while their baby sat alone in the playpen staring at Peppa Pig DVDs until the wee hours of the morning. 

They fanatically sterilised just about everything, except the baby’s dummy when it fell on the Nampara kitchen floor--then they just popped it back in Loveday’s mouth and pretended nothing had happened. And just at Christmas they’d raved that amber teething necklaces were the greatest but by Easter denounced them as ‘new-age folly’. Their biggest crusade now was keeping their baby safe from the dangers of white flour--which Prudie took as a personal insult--while curiously not noticing how close to the fireplace the child was crawling.

Demelza had once explained to Ross that she didn’t judge them for having their own opinions, but because they showed so little tolerance for those who might feel differently, she felt wildly uncomfortable talking to them at all. Ross understood what she meant. He’d had a similar interaction with Drake around what was the _best_ motor oil--or was it charcoal for the barbeque grill? He found something rather depressing about someone so young having so many unchecked convictions.

“Everyone no doubt will have advice of some sort or another. Some will be useful but not all and well I just think I need to find _my_ own way...especially at the beginning. Even if I’m feeling my way in the dark. Does that make any sense, Ross?”

“Of course it does. And I should have asked you before speaking to Jinny. I was trying to be supportive but I see it was a clumsy attempt.” 

Ross also knew, that being the rational scientist she was, Demelza was hardly going into this endeavour blind. She’d been reading extensively for the duration of her pregnancy and had filled most of an entire bookcase with books she’d collected on parenting. And she had been listening and observing. Nothing was lost on her.

Ross understood this was also about Demelza coming to terms with her own wounded past. She had no examples of parenting from her own childhood to draw upon. There were no Carne traditions to embrace or to rail against. She’d be making it all up as she went. 

And Ross had faith in her. A faith deeper and more unwavering than any medieval pilgrim’s, more true than anything he’d ever believed. He knew her capacity to love, to nurture, to listen, to forgive. Good god, what more could any child need?

“Speaking of feeling in the dark, I have no idea what I’m doing with these potatoes. What strikes your fancy tonight?” she said. Just like that, the storm seemed to have lifted.

“I like any potatoes you make, Demelza. Roasted, boiled, mashed. Whatever you prefer, my love.”

“Everything has been giving me heartburn. It’s rather bad today, I don't really feel like eating.”

“Then for heaven’s sake, don't cook,” he said and took the potato and peeler from her. “Go rest. I’ll see to my own dinner. But shouldn’t you at some point eat something?”

“Have we any cake? Why are you laughing?”

“Remember the first time you came to Nampara and you chose eating Prudie’s supper over making love with me?”

“Well we’d just climbed a cliff and I hadn’t really eaten any lunch...and, Ross, that was the _second_ time I came here. The first time it was you who put us to bed at a respectable hour--in separate beds I might add. Even Prudie couldn’t believe it when she found me in the guest room the next morning. She assumed you'd lost your touch,” she winked.

“That was clearly a gross oversight on my part,” he said and kissed her neck. “Let's go upstairs now and make up for past mistakes.”

Now it was her turn to laugh. 

“Don’t even tell me you find this dirigible desirable?” she pouted, looking down at her middle. Today it was official--her feet had finally been obscured by her belly.

“Oh my love. Never before have you looked so beguiling,” he whispered, grazing his lips against her neck as she bent forward. He meant it and if she would have let him he would have picked her up and carried her off in his arms. 

Instead she allowed herself to flash a weak smile then offered her hand to him and followed as he led her up the stairs.

The potatoes had long been forgotten.

\----

They’d never been closer. 

Ross found making love to his pregnant wife more satisfying and meaningful than he might have ever imagined. Part of it was his never-ending exploration of her ever-changing wondrous body. Part of it was watching her respond to his touches with a new and heightened pleasure.

She’d explained it to him once. It was hormones, but also increased blood flow to certain membranes and nerve endings that made her more easily and intensely aroused.

  
“Sure my nipples are always erect and my orgasms more intense but my gums are also bleeding, so there’s a trade off,” she’d laugh.

Now, as she lay on her side panting softly from exhilarated exertion, he traced on the smooth exposed skin of her back with his finger.

“Are you writing lines or maybe dirty poems on my back, Ross?” she teased.

“Oh, let’s see...maybe a little ‘Paradise Lost,’” he teased back. “That’s only 10,000 lines long!” Then some other lines came to mind and he spoke them, while he lazily drew figures on the beautiful blank canvas in front of him.

_“If I should think of love_

_I'd think of you, your arms uplifted,_

_Tying your hair in plaits above,_

_The lyre shape of your arms and shoulders,_

_The soft curve of your winding head...”_

He ran his hand low to the graceful curve where her back met her bum.

“Tell Sir William that is not my head,” she laughed.

“That’s also not Shakespeare,” he laughed. “But often erroneously is attributed to him. Okay? You want Shakespeare? Let’s try again.

_“Love is not love_

_Which alters when it alteration finds,_

_Or bends with the remover to remove:_

_O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,_

_That looks on tempests, and is never shaken..”_

Then he reached around and with the backs of his fingers stroked her waist then her belly. She took his hand in hers and after a moment of contemplation positioned it where the most action could be felt.

“Speaking of tempests...another restless Poldark,” she laughed. 

“I seem to know a Carne who is rather restless too.” He leaned his cheek against the top of her head and felt the current of love pass from him through her to their child.

He had never felt so connected to her even though she was travelling--full tilt--somewhere he would soon be unable to follow. Oh, he could be present and witness and coach and encourage and weep but he didn't fool himself into thinking for a moment that his involvement in their baby’s birth would match hers by a long a shot. And then what?

He wasn’t jealous nor did he suspect he would be. Surely there would be plenty of love, kindness, affection--and work supporting the newborn--for everyone.

 _“A mother’s love surpasses all other loves,”_ he recalled Elizabeth saying to Verity once, whilst he was in earshot. It had been at Geoffrey Charles’s christening over sixteen years before. At the time he felt as though she’d said it for his benefit but then later saw it spelled bad news for relations between Elizabeth and Francis. The Trenwith Poldarks never seemed to have enough of anything to be satisfied-- of money, of kindness, of love. 

He thought about asking Demelza what she thought about that and then remembered what she’d said earlier. She was feeling her way in the dark. She had so few memories of her own mother and sometimes seemed reluctant to discuss them, in case they crumbled and decayed like an old tapestry once exposed to the light of day.

Then out of nowhere he recalled something she said to him long ago, the night she first slept over at Nampara--the night he began his helpless plummet, head over heels for her. He was still falling, these many years later.

“ _I think... there are many ways to love a person. And if you believe there is only one way, you’ll be sorely disappointed your whole life. The trick is to find the right way for the right person at the right time_.”

He’d need to find the right way for this baby and the time was soon.

And then it hit him that he’d have a relationship with his son that his own, separate and different than the one Demelza had with the child. Of course he would, it seemed an obvious revelevation but the emotional complexity that lay ahead of them would be very much like a tapestry, wouldn't it? Richly patterned, with more and more texture embroidered over the years, delicate but also strong. Already friends and family had begun to speak to them about “the _next_ one” when this first hadn't even been born yet. But maybe there would be another precious thread to woven in some day, and even more after that.

“You suddenly seem far away?” Demelza said softly. It was an earnest invitation to share this web of thoughts and feelings but instead he decided to make her laugh. He wanted to see her smile and hear the rich sounds of her laughter echo throughout the room again.

“This may be the first and only time you chose love making over cake,” he said nibbling her ear.

She did laugh and when he joined her, the old bed shook.

“No I only _delayed_ the cake, knowing that if I made you happy enough in bed you’d bring it to me here…”

“Oh believe me, you made me very happy,” he whispered. Then he kissed her belly and got to his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Shakespeare and his lovely Sonnet 116 for some thoughts on love. Also the other poem ('When I Think of Love") has a sketchy provenance. If anyone can properly attribute it, I’d be grateful.


	5. Wednesday May 6, 2020

“Why didn't you wake me? How long have you been...?” Ross realised he was shouting but his tone wasn’t a concern to Demelza right now. She stared beyond him for a moment, her eyes glassy, animal. His heart stopped--he’d never seen her so feral and far away. Then she refocused and swallowed hard. 

“Since three or so…”

Ross switched on the lamp in the dark parlour. A bruised dawn was trying to creep in through the pulled blinds but hadn’t yet succeeded in providing any real light.

“Where’s Prudie?” he asked but she didn’t answer, just pulled her lips thin. 

Wednesday had been Prudie’s day off for years. Now Ross recalled she’d left the house the previous night, anxious to go at all, since she might 'miss something big', as she’d put it. 

“Oh Prudie, this little beast is already ten days past his due date. Stubborn like his parents, I suppose, but he’ll join us when he's ready,” Demelza had laughed. “But you go on--get out and enjoy yourself while you still felt free to do so,” she’d encouraged.

_Something big._

“Are you timing the contractions? You aren’t doing your breathing,” Ross said, then stopped and ran his hand along his beard. Bossing her was not the right move. She’d need his support, not his admonishment. 

She didn’t even shoot him the look she had perfected over the years for when he said something idiotic, but instead tried to straighten up her frame. She gave that up and leaned her weight on the back of the sofa again.

“Don’t switch on the light,” she pleaded. “It makes it more…”

He hastily complied.

“I called the midwife,” she explained. “She said we don’t have to come in just yet. It could be hours still. She said I should walk or move about as best I could. I did the washing up, folded the clothes in the tumble dryer, and started to tidy in here. But I think I might need to just stretch my legs a bit.” 

He could read the distress in her voice. He contemplated teasing her about the laundry, which had never been her strong suit, then thought better of it. It might serve to lighten the mood or it might be received like a lead balloon.

“Really, my love, you’ve been alone this whole time. You should have called for me,” he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly but also carefully as though she was suddenly a thousand times more fragile. He could feel the tension, the raw energy pulsing in her body. With a fevered love for her, unlike any he’d ever known, he pressed his lips to her temple, damp from perspiration.

“Well one of us should get some sleep,” she said, trying to sound upbeat. “I haven't slept well in weeks and am resolved to my fate that I shall most likely never sleep again. At least you could be well rested? Besides if this was a false alarm and you had to go to work today...” 

He detected just a slight wobble as she spoke; she’d had to pause and gulped a deep breath mid sentence.

“I’m most certainly not going to Grace today and it hardly matters if _I_ sleep. You are the one who will be doing all the labour.” Again he heard the sharpness in his own voice. This often came out when he was scared. And now he most certainly was.

\----

It had been a smooth birth, if the process of bearing another human being into this world through the perverse biological confines of the female body could ever really be described that way. Demelza bravely laboured at home for another hour until her waters broke then they got into the car for what Ross felt was the longest drive of his life. He kept expecting that at any minute he’d need to pull over and deliver their child in the back seat of the Peugeot, yet they made it to the birthing centre without incident.

Demelza progressed expertly from one stage of labour to the next, and even in her heightened pain, managed to ask technical questions of the staff that made her sound clear and in control. Ross wasn’t terribly surprised; he’d expected she’d bring Demelza-the-scientist front and centre as a way of masking her own fears. 

And then once their son was safely delivered and the midwife placed the long slim creature to the new mother’s heart, Demelza smiled the brightest smile Ross had ever seen. All he’d ever wanted was to give her what she desired, for her to be content. He’d had no idea she could be so happy.

“Oh Ross!” she cried. 

Ross settled his own head next to the child, who was still covered in blood and vernix yet was calm and alert, and spoke to him. His voice was low and sweet, but hoarse as it worked double time to contain his sobs.

“ _Jeremy_...Good morning, my boy,” he managed to say. 

“He looks like a bit like Jeremy Irons,” she said, in her delirious exhausted state.

“What?” he laughed and took the opportunity to wipe his eyes. “Is that why you wanted that name?”

“Was that _my_ choice? Really, I recall nothing before this moment. I thought it was some old Poldark family name. Just about every name is...but it suits you fine, my little Jeremy,” she said turning her attention to her baby. “Oh my love, it looks like your hair is as dark as your father’s.”

“Let’s get this lad cleaned up, though Dad’s tears already been doin’ a bit of that work, innit?” the nurse said with a wink.


	6. Wednesday May 13, 2020 Part II

From the very beginning, they’d been surprised at how good a sleeper little Jeremy was. His belly full, he’d stay asleep for hours at a time and quickly--within a week really--adapted to a schedule that was roughly predictable. And while he didn't sleep through the night fully, he considerately limited his interruptions. 

Ross and Demelza learned this admirable trait in their firstborn was not one to mention freely with other parents, although it was a question everyone seemed to ask. Those whose experience had been the opposite seldom appreciated hearing about the Poldarks’ good fortune. The Enyses had three children all under the age of four and hadn’t had a full night's sleep in as many years. 

“Poor Caroline,” Demelza had remarked once after hearing tales of the restless Enys twins.

“And Dwight,” Ross had added.

“Oh Dwight’s never slept well so this is nothing new for him,” Demelza had replied. 

So now when Ross gloated about Jeremy, they smiled politely, rolled their eyes just a bit, then swiftly changed the subject.

“Well wait for the next,” Dwight laughed.

\-----

She had found her own way. From the earliest moments she spent with Jeremy, Demelza quickly summoned a voice that was just for him. She’d chat away, explaining what was happening around him. 

“I know you’re sleepy but we’re going to try feeding you now, my little one, instead of waiting until you’re beside yourself upset and starving.” 

“I’m handing you to your daddy, my precious Jeremy. Your daddy has the strongest arms you’ll ever know.” 

“You can’t look around just yet but this is your home. It’s called Nampara, and a fine home it is, my little lamb, with all the love and warmth anyone could ever need.” 

Perhaps the perpetual narration was a way of grounding herself, to make sense of the new reality she’d landed in as of 11:38 AM on the 6th of May. Ross felt his heart swell at the rich tenderness in her tone. 

And it wasn’t long before she started singing to him as well. Elton John and Lady Gaga seemed to be her favourites. Ross laughed as he walked in on her singing _Tiny Dancer_ followed by _Paparazzi_ for the third time in one afternoon. 

“Don’t make fun, Ross. Those are the only songs I remember all the lyrics to. You know I’m rubbish at that, I’m doing the best I can.”

“You are not rubbish. It’s beautiful,” he smiled. “Look how he knows you already. But I suppose that’s been the case from his first breath.”

“No, then he recognised me because he had to--he needed me to survive. Now he knows me because he wants to. He still needs me to survive but I think he...he likes me. And I like him too.” She smiled at the fuzzy headed bundle tucked in the crook of her arm. 

Yes, she had found her own way.

\----

“How is our third man?” Ross asked, settling in next to Demelza on the bed. She was wearing one of his old button up shirts, and the red tartan made her hair appear particularly brilliant this afternoon. She’d claimed a number of these shirts lately; she found the worn flannel soft on her raw breasts and the buttons along the front worked well for nursing.

“He’s almost out, but every time I tried to unlatch him, his greedy little mouth starts suckling again. All he ever does is eat--I think he’s grown another six inches since we’ve brought him home--but he’s not gaining any weight around his middle. He’ll be tall like you,” she smiled.

“Or you,” he said and gently took one the little feet in his hand.

Ross was in awe of Demelza’s persistence with the whole process of breastfeeding. Thankfully it was working--Jeremy had latched on straightaway which wasn’t the case with many newborns--but it left her with swollen, leaking breasts and sore nipples, and seemed to occupy her every waking hour. She experimented with all sorts of holds and positioning, with cushions stacked under her arms or while the boy was snuggled in a sling against her. She’d even mastered nursing in a semi-asleep state. He wasn’t surprised by her patience--he’d anticipated that--but he did see that it was confining her, at least in these first weeks.

“Marsupials have the right idea,” she laughed. “I just need a pouch to keep him in all the time. Then maybe I can get other things done.”

“Let me help. What can I do? Prudie just left, but before she drove away she warned me that if I leave Master Jeremy’s little clothes out on the line in the rain she’ll personally draw and quarter me.”

“She’s trying valiantly to master that,” Demelza said.

“Execution?” 

“No, baby laundry! And good god, how can one small being produce so damned much of it?” she laughed, then turned serious for a minute. “Ross, does it bother you that our children will have no grandparents?” 

“ _Children?_ ” he teased with a raised brow. 

She rolled her eyes.

“Well, I suppose he’ll be missing out on some things,” he replied, but didn’t voice his relief that Jeremy would never have to deal with the emotional manipulation or abusive rants of Demelza’s father. And while Ross missed his own father in an abstract sort of way, he also felt satisfied that Joshua’s unscrupulous habits and bitter moods wouldn’t be something this child would ever know. “But he’ll have a most devoted Prudie, and there’s your brothers and Verity, and always Aunt Agatha!” he laughed.

“She’ll probably call him Ross,” she said.

“Or Joshua or even Claude Henry…”

“Who is...?”

“That was her younger brother…” he answered before she’d finished her question. 

Ross had often wondered over the past few years if his aunt’s memory was getting any worse. She seemed to have gotten clever about hiding her gaffes--in fact she didn’t really refer to anyone by their Christian names at all anymore. Any child was ‘chibbie’, adults were either ‘dear’ or ‘you’, depending on what she felt about their presence at the moment. Lately she’d taken to calling Ross just ‘Poldark’. He still worried that her tongue would slip and she’d let loose some secrets that were better left unspoken. 

“By the way don’t ever leave Jeremy alone with her,” he added quickly.

Again Demelza rolled her eyes and laughed in disbelief--of course the odds of her precious newborn being left at Trenwith for any reason were slim to none.

“He looks like he’s...yes!” she whispered. “He’s asleep.” She sighed.

Ross knew her struggle--she’d voiced it a more than a few times since they brought little Jeremy home. She understood it was most prudent to sleep while the baby slept but she was also itching to get up and move, to be an independent human being and not just a milch cow. But she was exhausted, and despite the surface of sweetness and patience, she was growing fragile and on edge.

“Love,” he said softly. “Let me take him and you get some sleep,” he suggested.

“But if he wakes?” she fretted.

“Then I’ll manage. He’s taken a bottle from me once before. It was far easier than when you had me feeding those orphaned bunnies…”

“Careful that he doesn’t...” But she didn’t finish her sentence.

Ross carefully slipped his broad hand under the sleeping baby and expertly lifted him into his arms. He walked a few paces across the room with Demelza’s watchful eyes trained on him. Finally, she smiled and settled against the pillows. Within seconds she was asleep, her mouth gaping open, her arms flung over her head. 

Faithful Garrick laid by the door, on guard, as he had been since they first brought Jeremy home. Both cats had wrapped themselves around Demelza's head, grooming themselves and occasionally offering a lick or two to the soft red hair that spilled into their territory. They’d been fascinated by the baby since he joined the family bed. Ross recalled old Joshua had very strong ideas about cats being kept far from babies--" _They’ll steal their breath, you know”-_ -but Demelza didn’t seem to mind them close to Jeremy, and so Ross followed her lead. 

He moved to the old rocking chair by the window and held his sleeping son close to his chest. 

A light rain had just begun otherwise he’d have considered taking him out for a walk, wrapped in the sling he’d practiced wearing around the house the past few days. He whispered in a low voice, careful not to rouse the boy or Demelza, who was now snoring lightly across the room.

_“The rain is falling all around,_

_It falls on field and tree,_

_It rains on the umbrellas here,_

_And on the ships at sea.”_

Rain. 

_Damn it! The clothes are outside,_ he remembered. 

“I’m not much of a help, am I, my boy?” He moved his mouth closer to the milky-smelling cheek to give it a soft kiss.

“Uhn...leh...uhn…” the little creature started to gasp.

“Shh, shh,” Ross whispered and pulled back just a bit. He rubbed the boy’s back until his breathing steadied again. Then unable to resist, he kissed his ear.

“Uhn, uhn, uhn…” Jeremy whimpered again. 

And then Ross had to face what he’d suspected but what he’d been trying to avoid all week. What further proof did he require?

He rose to his feet and after a few gentle rocks, found he’d sufficiently soothed the boy again. Over the past few days he’d quickly learned that transferring a sleeping baby from one’s arms to the bedside cot was among the most harrowing of all parenting tasks. Fortunately this afternoon, Ross managed to successfully slide him in without waking. Garrick quickly rose and moved under the cot, eyeing Ross suspiciously.

Ross stared for another moment with wonder and adoration at his small son. Then without further hesitation, he crept from the room.

He knew what he had to do.

\----

Now standing in the master bathroom alone, he took a deep breath. He’d earlier poured himself an intense dram of Ardbeg Corryvreckan, to calm his shaky nerves--yes, he was nervous--and to steady his hand. And maybe to dull himself just a bit to the sensation of the cold steel blade on his skin. At best it might just feel like an irritation.

He filled the basin with warm water and glanced up at his reflection one last time.

“Everything has changed,” he whispered. “Most especially me.”

\-----

“Ross!” Demelza cried, sitting bolt upright in bed. Something had woken her and now in her disoriented and half-dreaming state, she was utterly panicked. “Jeremy?! Where’s Jeremy?”

“Shh shh, my love, I’m right here.“ He ran to her side and tried to soothe her. “Jeremy’s here, he’s fine. He’s in his cot, asleep,” he assured her, then seeing the tears that were pouring from her tired eyes, pulled her into his arms for a cuddle. “You haven’t been asleep so very long, Demelza. Try to fall back…”

“Ross!” she shrieked and pulled away from him, staring in alarm. “Your face! Your…”

“Yes, my beard is gone. I shaved it just now,” he laughed and rubbed his bare pink chin with his hand. “You like?”

“Oh Ross,” she said and collapsed on his chest, trying to master her sobs that came from exhaustion.

“I guess that means no?” he asked with a light laugh.

“No, I love...oh I love you,” she whispered and without looking up, put her hand to his cheek. “It’s so much to take in...did it hurt?”

“No, not much. I forgot that using a blade is different than the electric shaver I’ve been using on my neck--it requires a little more finesse. But I managed and only cut myself the once.”

“Oh Ross,” she said again.

“I’ve still got some cleaning up to do in there,” he laughed. In truth it looked as though a furry animal had been skinned in their sink.

She looked at him now, working hard to focus her eyes. Finally she smiled her bright smile and thought to ask the obvious question.

“Why?”

“Oh, I noticed every time I got too close to Jeremy when he was asleep, the beard would tickle and wake him. Seemed the obvious sacrifice.”

“But you’ve always had the beard…” she stammered.

“Not always. And I can grow it back anytime. It only takes about two days, you’d be surprised.”

“And you did this for him?” she repeated.

“And you. It will make it easier for you if I’m able to do more things. Seems silly but I thought it would help.”

“You know if your face is irritated, Morwenna gave us a really lovely organic cream for the baby…” she said trying to keep a straight face.

“Nappy cream? So now you’re awake enough to tease me?”

She laughed what started to be a bright peel then she caught herself, lest she rouse the baby, and clapped her hand over her mouth. It ended as an inelegant snort.

“Yes?” he encouraged her.

“I’ve grown rather used to the way your beard feels on me, you know,” she said.

“Oh?” he said and flung back the duvet to expose her bare legs. He shifted closer to her then grabbing her waist, settled his naked cheek against her warm thigh. She giggled as he knew she would.

“Do you like me this way?” he asked.

“I think I could learn to like you,” she said coyly. 

He planted a kiss on her skin, then closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

“And I you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some readers might recognize “Rain” by Robert Louis Stevenson from A Child’s Garden of Verses.

**Author's Note:**

> As always I am indebted to Winston Graham and Debbie Horsfield whose characters I play with and whose words I borrow over and over. Savvy readers/viewers will recognize all sorts of dialogue bits.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Visit me at https://nervousladytraveler.tumblr.com/ if you want to continue the conversation!


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